


To Know You

by LennaNightrunner



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Complete, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-12 05:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1182528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LennaNightrunner/pseuds/LennaNightrunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas Eve finds Dean and Castiel spending a quiet evening together. As they discuss the holiday, Castiel contemplates his feelings for Dean and how things might have turned out differently if Jimmy Novak hadn't been his vessel. Still, perhaps the situation isn't completely hopeless?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Know You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ismene_Jane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ismene_Jane/gifts).



> For Ismene_Jane, Christmas 2013, with SO MUCH LOVE.
> 
> Note: I took some liberties with canon in terms of angel and soul stuff, but I think they’re reasonable embellishments/extrapolations. Artistic license and all that.
> 
> Setting: A nonspecific place and a vague time (possibly slightly AU if necessary) between when Cas was God and when Metatron took his Grace.

Christmas was not exactly a festive occasion for a fallen angel who had been abandoned by—and subsequently committed blasphemy against on multiple occasions—a God whose son’s birth was “the reason for the season,” as the saying went. So Castiel was grateful that the holiday was not extravagantly celebrated by the Winchesters. Indeed, it was hardly acknowledged.

This Christmas Eve found Castiel and Dean sitting on a sofa watching the television in a motel room styled like a cheap studio apartment, somewhere in Wisconsin that was so bitterly cold even Castiel could feel it. Sam had gone to a coffee shop three miles away because the motel’s wireless Internet reception was apparently ‘a joke.’ He did not seem to find it amusing, however.

“It’s a strange tradition,” Castiel remarked as they were assaulted by the overly cheerful music and too-bright colors of an advertisement for a department store’s ‘After Christmas Extravaganza.’ “Exchanging material goods to commemorate the messiah’s birth.”

“Free market economy, Cas,” Dean said between sips of beer. “God bless America!”

“You know, Jesus was actually born—”

Dean waved a hand at Castiel to cut him off.

“Don’t ruin it, Cas. I may not’ve been much of a believer before you showed up, but sometimes ignorance really is bliss. I’m fine with the swaddling clothes and sheep and donkeys and three rich dudes riding camels and all that shit. The only problem I got with it is a chick having a baby without even getting laid. If you’re gonna do the time you should at least get to do the crime.”

“Well, Mary was—”

“ _Cas_ ,” Dean warned.

Castiel smiled inwardly. “As you wish.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence while Dean watched some sort of animated film about talking reindeer and Castiel watched Dean (discreetly, of course).

It was not as if Castiel would see something different, watching Dean. Castiel knew Dean. He had reconstructed every atom of Dean’s flesh, caged his soul in it, and breathed life back into him. He had wielded the power of an omnipotent being when the Leviathans were within him, but Castiel felt that remaking Dean was the closest he had ever come to true godliness. Dean had been the first human Castiel had touched, and that had left a mark on him as surely as his own hand had burned into Dean’s flesh when he had raised him from Hell. Castiel _knew_ Dean.

Dean, who was strong and arrogant and violent but loyal and passionate and fiercely protective. Dean, who had committed the darkest sins and embodied the holiest virtues. Dean, who was a perfect paradox. Dean, who was beautiful in flesh and beautifully wounded in soul. Dean: the only being in all of God’s Creation whose good opinion mattered to Castiel. Castiel knew _Dean_.

And yet, he often found his eyes drawn to Dean. Observing, analyzing. (And, if he were honest with himself, _appreciating_.) There was a fear—no, not a fear; a concern, perhaps—within Castiel that if he did not watch Dean, Dean would change. Something would happen, instantly, inexplicably, and they would be strangers again. It made something in Castiel’s chest _ache_ , the thought of not knowing Dean.

Castiel remembered once being told that the moment he had met Dean in Hell he was lost, but that was not true. Trite as it was to say, that was the moment that set him on the long path toward finding himself. It had not been a bad life, being without Free Will, but Castiel had not _lived_ before Dean. Dean had helped Castiel, after spending millennia in the high courts of the Almighty, to finally come to understand what love and friendship and brotherhood were.

And to understand the pain those bonds could cause. Castiel had seen the proof of it countless times: to love was to open oneself up to pain. Of all the suffering Castiel had experienced, losing Dean’s trust had been by far the worst. Though he believed he was working toward regaining it, Castiel knew that things would never be the same between them again. He wanted that trust back so terribly. He wanted that friendship, that sense of brotherhood. But most of all, Castiel wanted what he was not certain he had ever truly had from Dean: love.

No, that wasn’t fair. Dean had loved him, Castiel believed, and he still did. But there were many different kinds of love, and over the past few years, it seemed, Castiel’s developing humanity had introduced him to the most volatile, complicated, and dangerous forms of love: passion, romance, desire.

Castiel had a conceptual idea of how people acted on these feelings. He had watched mankind love since their creation. He knew how Jimmy Novak felt about his wife. He had seen what Dean felt for Lisa Braeden (and discovered that he could feel jealousy). But he had never imagined that it would be like _this_.

It was as if there were an itch beneath his skin that made his fingers twitch toward Dean when he was near, to draw him close and refuse to let him leave. There was a lightness and warmth that grew within Castiel when he looked upon Dean, and a dark hollowness when they were apart. Dean’s smile could make Castiel’s breath catch; his tears caused him physical pain. And laced through all of it was an unbearable _need_ —humans often described it as _hunger_ , but Castiel had only ever felt that in the presence of Famine, and that had been nothing compared with this—for physical contact. To touch, to be touched. And to simply call it ‘sexual desire’ was insufficient.

_I love you, Dean_. The words echoed through Castiel’s mind in an endless mantra every moment he was within sight. They reverberated through his being, radiated out into the air, strained toward Dean, pleading for him to comprehend them. _I love you, Dean. I love you, Dean. I love you._

“What’s up, Cas?”

Dean’s voice startled Castiel from his reverie. “What?”

“You’ve got your deep-angel-thoughts face goin’ on. I can _feel_ you brooding.”

“It’s nothing.”

Dean snorted. “It’s never nothing with you.”

Castiel was silent for a long moment, then shrugged and said, half to himself, “It’s just that I wonder…. Well, I sometimes wonder if things might have been different.”

Dean made an expression that Castiel had learned meant he was waiting for something. “I’m not psychic, man, you gotta give me more info than that.”

“If…. If Jimmy Novak hadn’t been my vessel, I suppose.” Castiel sighed. “In my time on Earth I’ve come to understand how much human beings let physical appearance influence how they perceive character, often to the detriment of everyone involved. This is of course complicated by demons and angels posing as humans. You and Sam are quite familiar with that.”

“You got that right.” Dean took another sip of beer. “Where’re you going with this?”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Castiel stared down at his own (mostly full) beer bottle, which was resting in his hand on his knee. “I can’t help but wonder how differently you would perceive me if I had appeared to you in a different vessel.”

“Huhn.” Dean sat back against the sofa, considering the matter. “That’s a pretty big hypothetical. I guess…. I mean, if you’d stayed in Jimmy’s kid it would’ve been kinda weird having you follow us around, but I dunno. You’re a pretty cool guy. I think you could rock most vessels.”

Dean looked over at him and grinned, but Castiel could not return the smile.

“I suppose that’s the point. I’m not a ‘guy,’ Dean. I am an angel. You could not look upon my true form or hear my true voice and live.” Castiel picked at the label on his beer bottle as an excuse not to look at Dean. “Jimmy Novak permitted me to take control of his body, but I am not Jimmy Novak. I am not a man.”

“So, what—you wanna be a chick?”

To his horror, Castiel felt heat in his face, and was grateful for the dim light in the room and the fact that he could blame alcohol for the flush in his features (even though he had drunk only a few sips). He had in fact considered this idea before, in moments where Dean was obviously preoccupied by a woman. Perhaps if he had inhabited Anna’s vessel, for example, Dean might want him like he had wanted her? The thought sparked a pang of jealousy in Castiel. Love, he had learned, could cause a great deal of jealousy.

“I am indifferent to what form I inhabit on Earth.” Lying had become far too easy for Castiel. “I… I’m simply curious to what extent my form affects your perception of me.”

“You’re worried Sam and I just see you as a human.”

Castiel fidgeted, embarrassed. “Not _worried_.”

“Cas.” Dean turned to face him and gave him one of his most earnest looks—the one that refused to let the object of his focus break eye contact. “You saw my soul in Hell.”

“Of course.”

“Did it look like my body?”

Castiel considered before answering. Souls were perceived differently by different viewers.

“To other humans it would.”

“But not to you?”

“No.”

“But I was still me, right?”

Castiel felt his eyebrows furrow, unsure as to what point Dean was trying to make.

“Well… yes.”

“Can you still see me like that if you try?”

Castiel regarded Dean thoughtfully, searched his eyes for signs of the soul within. Yes, he could see it. It was the thing Castiel most cherished. The light marred by ribbons of blackness: the scars of sins he had committed in Hell. The imperfect entity that had ensured Castiel’s Fall (and freedom) the moment he had touched it. He saw it in his memories, surrounded by Hellfire, and he saw it now, hidden away in flesh and bone, contrasted starkly with the mundanity of Earth.

“In a manner of speaking.”

Dean put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. This made something in his stomach flutter.

“I know you’re not Jimmy, Cas. Yeah, I don’t know what you really look like, and I’m pretty sure I’d be more than a little freaked if you appeared in your as-tall-as-the-Chrysler-Building form. Assuming my eyes didn’t burn up in their sockets and liquefy my brain.” He smiled ever-so-slightly. “But I see you, Cas. Okay? I know you.”

_I see you. I know you_. Castiel marveled at how powerful such simple statements could be. The words pierced him to his core. They cut through Jimmy Novak’s flesh and embedded themselves in his true self. His Grace sang at the sound of those words. Dean had not said “love,” but his words were somehow better, less ill-used by mankind. And the overwhelming _need_ to connect with Dean in some tangible way forced out the fear and doubt and frustratingly human insecurity that had caused Castiel to self-impose a distance between Dean and himself.

So he did the only thing that was possible and logical and right for him to do: he surged forward and closed the gap between his mouth and Dean’s. There was a split second of panic at not knowing whether he would respond, but then an answering pressure against his lips, and Dean’s hand was at the back of his neck, keeping Castiel from pulling away (as if there were any force in the universe that would cause him to do that!). Castiel had once worried about the mechanics of kissing, but found that most of it seemed to be dictated by instinct, and in any case Dean quickly took control and Castiel was able to follow his lead, greatly enjoying the learning process.

Dean’s kisses were rough and possessive and passionate. He tasted of alcohol and smelled of, well, _Dean_. The experience was exactly what Castiel would have expected from Dean if he had ever allowed himself to seriously consider the idea that this might have been a possibility.

When they broke apart in order to breathe properly, Castiel allowed his eyes to rake over Dean unabashedly. Dean’s pupils were large and dark, and his hair was in disarray where Castiel had clutched at it. The sight might have taken his breath away if Dean’s kiss had not already done so. No human in the history of mankind had ever looked so beautiful to Castiel.

“That’s what all that vessel talk was about, huh?” Dean’s voice had a husky quality to it that caused a somehow pleasant ache to bloom in the pit of Castiel’s stomach.

Castiel made a noncommittal sound, still a little self-conscious.

“And here I was trying to be a gentleman and pretend all those longing looks and invasions of personal space were innocent and brotherly!” Dean chuckled. “I gotta say, Cas, I’m diggin’ the gutsier you.”

“Shut up,” Castiel said boldly, and pulled Dean toward him for another kiss.


End file.
